


Let me glimpse inside your velvet bones

by LiveLoveDoritos



Series: Crimson; blood, roses and thorns [2]
Category: Carmen Sandiego (Cartoon 2019)
Genre: F/M, Gray has mommy issues, Meeting the Parents, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, References to Depression, Sad, Smutty, gray centric, gray loves carmen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:34:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29828475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveLoveDoritos/pseuds/LiveLoveDoritos
Summary: A woman with a red coat and red fedora walks into a Sydney bar. She’s as fleeting as the cold, and as beautiful as the evening stars. The people on the dance floor part for her like the red sea and she’s Moses. She walks through the cleared path with long strides and with purpose. The world around her is smeared in purples and blues from the disco lights. No one sees her face, but her very presence demands respect.Gray feels himself smiling, as he holds a glass under the beer tap, and she tips her hat up just slightly, and he can see her red lips forming into a soft smile just for him.“One day your girlfriend's gonna scare away all of our customers,” Tasha says, shaking her head with a saccharine laugh.
Relationships: Gray | Crackle/Carmen Sandiego | Black Sheep
Series: Crimson; blood, roses and thorns [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2192790
Comments: 11
Kudos: 28





	Let me glimpse inside your velvet bones

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, y'all! It's been a few! 
> 
> Just wanted to clarify that yes i do know Gray is an orphan, but i thought that to be a little cheap so I gave him one lol. Enjoy and tell me what you think!!

A woman with a red coat and red fedora walks into a Sydney bar. She’s as fleeting as the cold, and as beautiful as the evening stars. The people on the dance floor part for her like the red sea and she’s Moses. She walks through the cleared path with long strides and with purpose. The world around her is smeared in purples and blues from the disco lights. No one sees her face, but her very presence demands respect. 

Gray feels himself smiling, as he holds a glass under the beer tap, and she tips her hat up just slightly, and he can see her red lips forming into a soft smile just for him. 

“One day your girlfriend's gonna scare away all of our customers,” Tasha says, shaking her head with a saccharine laugh. Her voice is barely audible over the music. Gray just rolls his eyes at her and moves away from her to meet Carmen who slid onto a bar-stool in the meantime. 

Gray licks his lips, feeling butterflies in his gut like he’s seeing her for the first time all over again, “so, pretty lady,” he says, leaning onto the bar, “what’ll it be tonight?” 

She takes off her hat and her hair bounces in curls back against her temples. There’s a bruise on her face, and she has a small shallow cut in her eyebrow. She grins playfully, her teeth gleaming in the neon lights. She is beautiful. 

“Well, aren’t you handsome?” She says, clasping her gloved hands together, “a bourbon on the rocks, please.” 

Gray nods approvingly, “good choice.” The drink doesn’t take too long to prepare, and he sets it in front of Carmen with a soft thud. “There you go.” 

“Thanks handsome,” she says, taking a slow sip of her bourbon. He watches her throat work to swallow it away, and something hot runs along the inside of his stomach. She sets the drink back down, the condensation from the ice drips off the glass, leaving a wet ring in its wake. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” 

“Sorry, sunshine,” he grins, teeth bared, “I got carried away.”

“Well, carry yourself away and fetch me some more bourbon, then,” she says, without any bite to her tone.

“And who’s gonna pay for all that, darling?” He teases, putting a hand on his hip. 

Carmen leans in, raising her eyebrows, “well, you see,” she whispers conspiratorially, “I’ve got this awesome boyfriend. He works here, so my drinks are free.” 

“And who is this awesome boyfriend of yours, if I may be so inclined to ask?” Gray leans onto the counter, now, close to her face. Behind Carmen, everyone is dancing the night away. But here, in the space they share, they have a silent universe of their own making, where only they exist. 

“Oh, you wouldn’t know him,” she says, circling the edge of her glass with her finger, “he’s really handsome. Smart and funny too. Good with the boys and the ladies, but only has eyes for me.” 

He winks at her, gloating at her compliments. “Sounds like a stand-up guy, then.” He says, jokingly. 

She winks at him, “He really is.” she looks down at her glass, smiling happily, “I’m the luckiest girl in the world to have him.” 

A grin breaks out on his face unbidden, and he feels his cheeks pinch, “Well, I’m sure he’s the luckiest guy in the world to have such a beautiful missus as you.” 

She bites her lip, laughing and downs her glass, “he so is, I’m a real catch. A gal like me is almost impossible to find.” The disco lights dance on her face and she is lit up like a picasso painting. She sets her glass back on the damp bar with a hard thud. Her grey eyes are daring. 

Gray leans in, nodding with his cheeks puffed, thinking about how she was indeed always one step ahead of them, always cleverer, always faster. More than once, the faculty had exclaimed, ‘where on earth is Carmen Sandiego!’ 

He smirks. “Yet still she sits right in front of me.” 

She cups her cheek in her palm, “Indeed hot stuff, Indeed I am,” she sighs, “but. you see, now, I have a huge problem, you know? I ordered a bourbon like… two minutes ago. And I still don’t have it.”

Gray snickers, “That is indeed a huge problem. Would the lady mind if I had a bourbon with her?” 

She pretends to consider it, and then concedes, “I’m sure my boyfriend won’t mind,” she says teasingly. 

“Nah,” Gray turns around smiling to get the drinks, “I’m hundred percent sure of that.” 

…

His shift is over soon, and Carmen waits for him to get done so they can walk back together to their apartment. Luckily it isn’t far, and while Gray puts on a light coat to protect against the cool of the night, Carmen stows her red attire into her backpack. 

She puts her hand in his and they leave the bar. Their palms are a little sweaty, but Gray doesn’t mind, just swings their hands back and forth in the space between them. 

The sky is clear, tonight. The stars are stark and bright against the nightly darkness. Moonlight and the hazy glow of the street lanterns shine directly onto Carmen’s face as they walk past. The bruise on her jaw is now even more visible now than it was in the dim light of the bar. 

He asks about it. 

She shrugs helplessly, “Despite the faculty being gone, V.I.L.E is long from destroyed. The operatives they send in are better than the ones they trained at the school. More experienced too. One got too close, that’s all.” 

He nods wordlessly, “what was the heist?” 

They round a corner into the next block, which is completely empty. Carmen lets out a small peel of laughter that echoes weirdly in the still street, “Some dude calling himself the plague attempted to steal plans for a bioweapon from a lab. I stopped him of course, and put ACME on it to handle the rest.” 

Gray lets out a scoff. “Pfff, the plague. That’s such a lame codename. Glad you caught the fucker.” 

She elbows him teasingly in the middle, “like Crackle was so top-notch.” 

“Hey!” He says defensively, “My codename was fucking awesome. thank you very much.” 

She nods solemnly, “yes.” and then after a beat of silence adds, “if you’re five.” 

“Carmen!” he whines, and slips his hand out of hers and lifts her up by the waist, swaying her around, “Did no one ever tell you it’s rude to make fun of people?!

Carmen makes a show out of struggling against him, laughing loudly, “Graaaaay, put me down, we’re gonna wake people u--” 

The sound of a window getting opened shuts her up, and the fuming head of a middle-aged man pops out between fluttering white curtains, “SHUT THE HELL UP. IT’S BLOODY THREE AM IN THE MORNING, THERE ARE PEOPLE TRYING TO SLEEP HERE.” 

Carmen and Gray share one guilty glance in between them before erupting in wheezing laughter, and high-tailing it out of the block. Hands clasped together still.

…

"Mom?" He's lost. He doesn't know where he is. "Mommy?" His face is wet. his head feels like someone shot a hot bullet through his brain and he lost his mom, he doesn’t know where she is and he--

"Graham Calloway," she-- Doctor Bellum says, in this lighting she looks like white-coated demon, “You were so promising, it is sad to see you reduced to this child-like state of mind.."

needs her and-- 

"Please," his throat is raw, he feels like he's going to keel over any second now, and all he wants is his mother, "I want my mom. Where is she?"

she’s gone and he-- 

(He)

a smooth hand that feels like electricity comes to rest on his forehead. someone Gray cannot see says, "do not worry, my dear. all will be fine. Doctor Bellum, do hurry it up please."

(Is towering. He is a church born from sin, and Gray is nothing but an abomination) 

She’s on the kitchen floor and she’s screaming, there’s so much blood--

"Don't worry," the demon says. her teeth gleem predatory, like those of a shark. "this won't hurt a bit."

There is only Him and Gray and his mother keeps screaming and--

"I just want my mom," he sobs. pain pulses through his skull like an accelerated engine, and he feels he's going to die. he's going to die. he's going to-- 

(die)

…

Gray feels the headache already pulsing in his temple when he wakes up, and he sighs without opening his eyes. It is unrelenting, the pain hounding him like a sinner hounds God with empty prayers. 

Now, see, Gray is used to it, the headaches, but he isn’t used to being taken care of. Carmen is unyielding in that sense. She insists on smothering him, bringing him tea and breakfast and his morphine pills, telling him to stay put and in bed. And it’s something Gray loves fiercely, but also drives him crazy at times. 

He knows it’s probably of her imposing guilt still, even six months later. The fact she thought she murdered him took a toll, and now she was desperately trying to fix something, and Gray doesn't understand what that something is, and Carmen will not tell him about it either.

Carmen has always had a good heart, something Gray had always known, deep in his gut, but had pushed the notion that she was different from the rest somewhere far away in his mind. He didn’t want her to be different. He didn’t want her to be anything else than he was. He saw himself in her, both burning and dying to get out there and impose their will on the world. It was why they worked so well as friends, why they gravitated towards each other like magnets and steel.

They were two spitfires, brimming with boundless energy, and childish hopes and dreams and fairytales. If only Gray had looked harder, if only he’d just looked. He would’ve spared himself so much heart-ache. He would’ve gotten out of there in a second, he would’ve gone and never looked back. 

But now, he’s twenty-eight, fully grown and a hell of a lot smarter than he was all those years ago. The memory of V.I.L.E is nothing but old scar tissue. Sometimes, he thinks he made all of it up. But then, he still looks into those, dancing, grey eyes that are still the same and he finally realizes what it was, the thing she had, and what the others lacked.

A conscience. She was filled with love up to her teeth.

Love for other people. Love for the planet. Love for cultures. Love for countries. She was never destined to become a bad guy, Carmen was always meant to liberate, to stand tall with victory against her enemies. To wave the flag, to bury the stick in the mud and say ‘no more’. 

That is who Carmen is, and who she will always be. She will always want to fix her mistakes, apologize and do good, even if she doesn’t quite understand what that is. 

So even if it drives Gray crazy, he doesn’t stop her. Because this is what she needs to do to make amends. 

She still tells him every so often, “I am so, so sorry.” Like everything that happened between them happened only moments ago. 

“For what?” He will ask. and though she will say nothing in return, she smiles in the way he knows is only for him. 

... 

His mother adores Carmen. 

Typical. His mother has never liked any of his boyfriends or girlfriends. She’s always been the embodiment of passive aggressive judgement. Giving him the stink side-eye or making small off-hand comments about weight, or clothes, or piercings or whatever his mom could notice. 

Of course. She doesn’t do that at all with Carmen. In fact, she even invites Carmen to help her cook dinner.

This is what you need to know about Gray Calloway’s mother; 

Her kitchen is her church, her temple. The holy of holies. No one is allowed in there without her permission. And strangers are an absolute no-go. 

So color Gray surprised when his mom asks Carmen to help with dinner. Carmen, of course accepted with the usual poise and dignity, but Gray didn't miss the tiny glint of panic when their eyes met. And to be frank, Gray's own shocked expression didn't do much to ease her anxiety either. 

So now Gray is waiting at the small dinner table in the garden. Fretting and biting his nails. What if Gray's mom doesn't like Carmen? What if this is some elaborate scheme his mom made up to scare her away and--

He stops himself. He's twenty-eight, goddamnit! Not fifteen anymore. Gray sighs, fishing his phone out of his pocket. He almost never has any messages, save from his mother or his work. 

He opens instagram, scrolls for a bit, and refreshes it. He closes the app, but he hasn't got any other social media or whatever to go to. So he opens instagram back up. Rinse and repeat. 

He's watching a video of a puppy seeing snow for the first time when Carmen and his mother finally emerge. Steaming pots of food in their hands. 

"Nice," Gray says when Carmen puts down the lasagna. 

she pulls up her shoulder to her face as she turns to get more from the house. "I helped make it." She winks.

"Orange juice is in the fridge, sheila, cups on the counter," His mom calls after her. She gives her a thumbs up as she walks back into the house. 

Gray shoots from his chair, hands slamming on the surface of the table, "what the hell are you up to?" he hisses.

"Language, Gray. I didn't raise you like that," she tuts, she messes with the plates, "This is the first girl you've brought to me in ages. I just wanted to see what she was like."

"Well?" 

His mother opens her mouth to respond but at that exact moment Carmen returns, orange juice in one hand, and three stacked cups in the other.

Gray begrudgingly sits down again. 

"You okay?" he asks her quietly, taking her hand as she sits down.

She is all but smiles, radiant like crystals. "Yeah, fine!" she says with a huge grin. Her grey eyes are dancing in the sunshine.

He blinks. "Okay."

Mom clasps her hands together. "Let's eat!" 

Carmen's fingers curl around his underneath the table.  
…

Dinner is….. actually fun. Carmen and mom have a great time together, chatting cheerily like they've known each other forever. Gray watches them in awe.

Even when dinner is over, they are still in elated conversation. Gray sees no chance of butting in, so back on his phone he goes. Which his mother takes offense to. 

"Graham, if you don't have anything better to do than scrolling on that damn phone, go collect these plates and do the dishes." She admonishes. 

Gray sighs, pocketing his phone. He knows better than to argue and starts stacking the dirty plates. 

Carmen jumps up. "I'll help."

"Of course not! You're a guest." his mother goes, "Me and Gray'll do it. You go sit down, make yourself comfortable."

Carmen nods politely, and lets Gray's mom guide her back to the house. Gray in the meantime collects all the dirty things and hauls them back to the kitchen in one go. 

He runs the water in the sink and throws in a heap of soap. Then he throws all the utensils in. A little foam lands on his forehead and he wipes it away with his sleeve. 

His mom ambles out of the living room and gets a towel to dry. They work in silence for maybe a beat of a second before Gray, silent, but clear, asks, "well?"

Mom hums thoughtfully. “She’s a very nice girl.” 

“That’s all you gotta say about it?”

She shakes her head, “This is one of your issues, Graham. You never let me speak.” She heaves a big disappointed sigh, “You can see she’s been through a lot, you can see it in her eyes. They’re so sad.” 

Gray says nothing, just scrubs a cup. 

“Yours are too, y’know?” she says. Gray looks up at her in surprise. “There’s something about you two, a certain…..” She pauses to think,” anguish… yeah, anguish, hangs above your heads like stormy clouds.” 

“We have been through a lot together,” Gray admits, “there are things we both haven’t completely forgiven ourselves for yet. But me and her… we’re in this together, y’know? We always kind of have been. There were moments where I could have --” 

He pauses. _Where I could have hurt her so much worse_. Like on the train in France, he could have taken her by force. Gray by all means, isn’t weak. It takes more than just a kick to the face to take him out. But he remembers his heart hadn’t been in it. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her. Even back then when he thought it was the only option. One look in those grey eyes and he falls into shambles. Maybe he is weak, but only in the wake of her light.  
He says instead, “We’ve been in tight spots. But we rose out of them together and that’s what makes us work.”

“I agree.” his mother says fondly. “You two compliment each other so very well. Like you two have the routine down.” 

Gray swallows back a flash of panic, “Yeah,” he laughs nervously, “Thanks mom. I’m glad you like her.” 

“I really do,” his mom says, “she has a good soul. I know it.” It goes silent, then. his mom turns to face him as she places the towel down on the counter. Her brown eyes boring into Gray’s. Her expression something solemn. “Don’t lose her, Gray. Don’t ruin it like you always do.” 

Gray represses the small sting of pain. “yeah, I won’t mom.” 

She pats him lovingly on the cheek. “Good boy.” 

She turns from him and walks back towards the living room. Gray is left alone to drown. 

…

“Your mom’s an interesting woman.” Carmen says, not unkindly, once they’re safely in their car. “I’ve met very few like her.” 

Gray drags one hand down his face. “She’s a hag,” he says miserably, “you can say it.” 

“No, no, not a hag,” Carmen says carefully, “She was really sweet to me while cooking, but asked me all kinds of questions, though. Like the ones that make you feel like shit.” 

Fear flashes through his body like thunder. “Like what?” 

Carmen kicks off her sandals, placing her bare feet on the dash. Her toenails, of course, are bright red. She shrugs. “Like backhanded compliments, like my weight. For example, Or she’d ask me outright if I was sure about you.” 

“Carm, I’m sorry.” Gray sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “She always does shit like that. I should’ve known better than to let her alone with you.” 

“It’s okay, Gray.” She smiles sadly. “But it was fine. Other than that, me and your mom got along great.”

Something hurts, deep inside of him. “Yeah!” He says, “I saw that. You two looked like long lost friends.” He turns a corner. “She told me she liked you. That I shouldn’t ruin it.” 

Carmen smiles sweetly, like cherry flavored ice-cream. Her hand reaches over to lovingly stroke his cheek and the shell of his ear. “I’m sure you won’t.” 

He takes her hand in his, and presses a lingering kiss against her knuckles. Late afternoon sunlight slants onto Carmen's face. “I sure hope so, love.” 

…

He lays her down on her back, takes her hands and presses them down in the sheets beside her head. This is how she lies in front of him, in a vulnerable position, but it does not make her weak. She gives herself over to him in fullness, and in all earnesty. Gray does not take this lightly. She has always been a force of nature. A hurricane, raging through his life. It would be sin, to treat her like anything less. 

They take their sweet time; laughing, creating their own little world in which only they exist. Pain is forgotten, and nothing matters here. only her eyes and her hands and her mouth. 

Together they crush their love into their pillows. 

… 

There are days where he wakes up and the guilt is pawing at his chest like a puppy pawing at a door. It’s a heavy feeling, like his entire body is filled with stones. His limbs move sluggishly, and his head is pounding. 

Carmen, of course, knows something’s wrong the moment she looks at him. He can see clarity clicking behind her eyes, and she asks, “are you okay?” 

He feels dirty; thinks of blood going down the drain. He swallows. “Fine,” he lies. “I’m gonna take a shower.” 

He ambles to the shower, his vision spinning and his stomach rolling. He can smell it, taste it on his tongue. It was all over him, his hair, his face and his clothes. Worst of all on his hands. They were completely drenched, dripping crimson. 

Sheena had purred, completely unaware of the panic surging through him like a tsunami. “Good work, lover boy. I didn’t know you had it in you.” 

When she was gone, he had vomited all over the shiny floor. 

He turns on the shower, the hottest he can take. 

He scrubs and scrubs until his skin is red, and raw. Until he feels the layer of filth is gone. But it doesn’t matter what he does; He still sees the blood on his hands. He still hears them gasping for air. He tries to clean his palms from it, like Pontius Pilates once washed his hands to not have Jesus’ blood dripping from his fingers. 

Nothing helps, nothing works. He still feels the electricity in his fingertips from the recoil. The wound in the man’s chest had been open and gaping. And after he cleaned up his vomit and left, he had forgotten about it soon after. Sheena had dangled the diamond in front of his face and they’d celebrated the win with the others. 

But that was then. 

Now, now, _now_ he’s choking on his deed. Feels it clog his airways like cotton rags. There's extreme pain in his chest, the knowledge that he did something that he cannot make undone sits heavily, and he almost feels like he can vomit it up but it gets stuck up his throat, and all he can do is swallow it back. 

It’s the past. The past. The past. All the cells in his body have regenerated since then. Past Gray doesn’t belong to future Gray. The hands that killed that man aren’t the hands he possesses today, but that does not matter, his hands look exactly the same they did all those years ago, and Gray isn’t made to forget his horrible mistakes. 

There’s no question about it; evil bones, evil hands. Violent and despicable. Gray has been, is, a terrible human being. It doesn’t matter that Carmen doesn’t agree, that she thinks he’s good, even underneath the weight of all he’s done. 

He’s shaking, his bones jostling against loose skin. The blood inside him trills, knee caps stuttering and he can’t stay on his feet. Everything aches, like a sickness of his own making pulsing through his veins. 

“Sorry,” He tells no one in particular, "God I’m so fucking sorry,” 

The shower water is hot and scalding, blistering his raw skin. He deserves it, he deserves the pain. He deserves to suffer like they have suffered. There is no way out, only to face what he’s done and that is something he cannot do. 

He can’t breathe, he almost breaks off his nail by jamming them hard into the skin of his arm. He vaguely registers he’s panicking, somewhere beneath the sickly turn of his stomach. His chest hurts, heartbeat thudding against his ribcage like an angry wasp in a jar, and he thinks, I’m going to die here, I’m going to have a heart attack in this goddamn shower and I’m going to die. 

Suddenly, Carmen is there, stepping into the bathtub with him, fully clothed. “What the hell are you doing, Gray?"

She hisses when her hand touches the stream of hot water and she reaches over to turn it off quickly. 

“I killed him, Carm,” He sobs, he folds in on himself, imagines his skin melting away and his bones shining in the sun for the world to see. “Carmen, I killed him.” 

“I know, baby, I know.” she says soothingly. She knows what this is about because he told her everything. She knows about the blood, the diamond he stole. She knows about his horrible guilt, trapped inside his chest like an eagle, almost too big to contain in such a measeley cage. 

Her body is cold against his overheated skin. She grabs a towel from the sink and runs it through his hair. He grabs her waist and holds her close. “I’m here, Gray. I’m here.” She whispers. 

She cards slender fingers through his damp hair. She’s not telling him it’s okay, that he is forgiven, because they both know it’s not and that he is not. All he can do is live with it, repent, maybe. Turning himself in is not an option, because V.I.L.E is still out there, and they are still searching for him and Carmen. 

Gray lets her rock him back and forth. 

…

Gray doesn’t go on missions with her, too many old memories, too many triggers. He does stay connected though, same with Player, who has some attitude towards him. 

The little tyke even gave him the “break her heart and I’ll fucking bust your kneecaps” talk! 

“Yeah, right,” Gray had scoffed, laughing so hard the walls seemed to shake, “aren’t you a little boy with computers?” 

“A little boy with access to the deep dark web!” Player said lightly, “I can hire a hitman who can bust your knees for me.” 

Gray liked him immediately. 

…

He plays soccer with the neighborhood kids sometimes, and it makes him wish he’d just sought another career besides a criminal electrician, like a teacher. He likes being around the kids, teaching them to play, and how to play fair. It's fulfilling, and prideful. Gray's heart nearly bursts when they hug his leg to thank him for playing. 

Carmen joins them sometimes, and she always, always, wins. 

“How do you do it!” one of the boys exclaims, angrily throwing his hat at the grass. It bounces, and crushes a daisy. 

“I’m awesome,” Carmen shrugs simply. 

That’s that, and the boys go home. Gray wraps an arm around her shoulders, pressing his mouth to her cheek, “would my awesome girlfriend wanna get some ice-cream with me?” 

She wraps her arm around his waist, nuzzling into him, even though he’s sweaty. “Only if you pay for it.” 

He laughs. “Deal.” 

...

Everytime, it feels like the first time. 

they press their fiery bodies against each other. Their lips slotting together like puzzle pieces, like they have always been a matching set. 

They get down in the pale moonlight, shimmering from beyond Gray’s window. The night is young, and so are they. Vibrant and alive, like burning stars, reflecting light from wavering oceans. He fucks her so hard that she sobs on unmade sheets, his name tumbles from her mouth like a prayer, out of breath, and almost incoherent. 

Her hair is crimson red, spilling over his pillow like blood. He stares at her after she falls asleep. He thinks, maybe if we baptize ourselves in the cold ocean, maybe we can be forgiven. Maybe our souls can be washed clean, like Pontius Pilatus once washed his hands from guilt, so maybe we can wash our hands from crime. 

Gray doesn't know, not yet, the answer lies within her purifying love. He yields, but his knees crush down on a boneyard of dead lies and untold truths, he is unaware, for now, that Carmen has always been the answer. 

…

Carmen and her mom communicate in fast Spanish. Something she’d learn to perfect in the four years she lived with her. They sound like they have an argument and while Gray can pick up some words, he has no idea what it’s about. 

Carmen paces through the living room, feet bare and a hand flying through the air as she spits out words quick like a viper. 

Gray furrows his eyebrows, trying to focus on the news article he’s reading on his phone. 

Then Carmen goes silent for a second, listening to the woman rambling on the other line. She starts to laugh. “Perdón, Mamá. Sí, sí.” 

Gray looks up at her, wiggling his eyebrows and moving his eyes to convey his confusion. 

She puts a finger to her lips as she hmhm’s into her phone. “Te quiero, mamá. Sí. Adiós.” 

Gray hears the phone line clicking, and he watches as Carmen shuts down her phone and throws it on the saloon table. “Well? What did she have to say?” 

Carmen sighs deeply, falling back onto the couch with him. “She’s mad I haven't visited her for six months. The kids have been asking about me too.” Dancing grey eyes meet his. Then. “What do you say, Gray? Up for meeting my mom?” 

...

The airport is absolutely abuzz with people. Parents hold their eager children firmly by the hand to hold them from running off. They've come across a few crying babies, and Gray accidentally stumbled over the foot of someone sleeping in a chair. 

Gray despises airports. Not that he will tell her, but in these instances he misses V.I.L.E and their love for personal helicopters. 

Carmen is looking for the check in line, while Gray hauls the suitcases with him. 

He swears when Carmen’s handbag falls from the handle of the suitcase to the floor for the so maniest time, this time because of a guy bumping into the suitcase hard. 

“I hate airports.” He says. 

“I know babe.” 

“Couldn’t we have asked Player for a private jet.” Gray grumbles, clawing at the handbag. 

“V.I.L.E has no more money left, and ACME doesn’t pay me enough to afford it myself.” She says, shrugging. 

“Ugh,” Gray says. 

…

They’re on the flight, two hours in, when Carmen suddenly laughs. 

Gray glances at her. “what?” 

“You remember when you kicked Sheena out of that helicopter?” She giggles. “Funniest thing ever. You just…. Kicked her.” Carmen dissolves into peels of quiet laughter as to not disturb the other flight attendants. 

“Dickhead got what she deserved.” Gray says. Carmen laughs even harder. 

…

“Hey,” Carmen leans against his shoulder. 

Gray looks away from his phone to kiss her forehead. She’s nice and warm. “Hey.” 

She smiles softly, wrapping her hands around his arm. “Can I ask you something?” 

Nothing, literally nothing, could have prepared him for this one. 

“Did you and Sheena ever-” She halts on the ‘ever’, blinking at him meaningfully. 

Gray is so perplexed he forgets to answer. His jaw is fallen, and he stares at her in shock. 

She jostles his arm. “Well?”

"No?!" Gray shivers at the prospect of it, even. That smug, oily-haired, french sewer perfume drenched cat? Nope. "Never, I mean, she tried, but I always said no." 

"Okay good, because she smells like catnip." Carmen says, a smile picking at the corner of her mouth. She stretches her legs, her head lulling back against Gray's shoulder as she looks outside the little window. It's night already, and the little lights from the cities down below flicker like a trillion tiny diamonds against the dark. 

"Y'know," Gray rests his head atop of hers, pressing his nose into her crimson hair. She smells like strawberry and cinnamon, "I think she unironically eats cat food."

"Definitely," Carmen agrees.

…

"Y'know," Carmen starts, and Gray snaps out of his dozed haze like a rubber-band. "When you switch the R.A in your name to A.R, you get Gary."

Gray blinks. Yawns, "I hate that a lot," he tells her. 

"Gary come home," she sings softly, erupting into giggles when Gray elbows her. 

"Stop it woman," he says, but with no real bite, "and technically, my name isn't even Gray! It's Graham." 

She shrugs, "I don't care, it's Gary now." 

"You're impossible. Remind me why I'm dating you again."

"Shut up Gary, I'm amazing."

... 

It’s late in the evening when they finally reach their destination; Carlotta Valdez’s orphanage. Carmen’s mom. 

The stars are clearer here than back in Sydney, almost more clean, prettier. Gray almost feels like he could crawl into them and just forget about all of his worries. To just spend his days with Carmen and to never bother with the outside world ever again. 

There’s something about being in a different place than what you are used to, something entirely beyond the slump he is in day after day. He has no responsibility here, and it is oddly freeing. 

“We’re almost there,” Carmen says, breaking him out of his thoughts. Their hands swing back and forth in between them. “Are you nervous?” 

Gray shrugs. He already knows Carmen’s mom, they’ve face-timed before, and he doubts it’ll be any different in person. “Not really.” He points to himself with a smirk. “No one can resist my natural charm.” 

“Charm smarm.” Carmen mutters, but the corners of her mouth tick up in a silent laugh. 

They walk a few blocks more, swaying around the locals who are still outside, chatting, smoking cigars, walking their dogs and riding on their bikes. The streets are still so very alive, buzzing excitedly underneath the full moon.

A few recognize her, excitedly yelling her name, or waving frantically. She knows the names of each and everyone of them, making quick small-talk in fast spoken Spanish Gray can’t even begin to comprehend as she pulls him along. 

The air is still hot and stuffy, and a bead of sweat trails down Gray’s back. The streets smell like burned concrete and old memories. Carmen wears an expression of happiness and joy, a spring in her step she doesn’t possess when she’s with him in Sydney. It makes him swallow, bite on his cheek. She’s much happier here. 

But that begs the question; is he happy in Sydney? 

He releases a sigh through his teeth, counts his steps, and inches closer to press his shoulder against hers. She looks up at him. The silent question in her eyes (are you okay) but he leaves it unanswered. Just stares ahead. So does she. 

They round a corner, and she squeezes his hand like a vice. “There it is!” She points at a house in the distance with a giant front garden enthusiastically. She lets go of his hand at once, pure unadulterated joy springing off her face like sunbeams. Gray gets warm just looking at her. “Race ya,” She laughs, sprinting towards the house. Her suitcase hobbles over the uneven street stones. 

Gray only smiles and follows suit. 

…

Carmen’s mom releases a giant squeal when she lets them in, wrapping Carmen into her arms, tutting, “mi niña hermosa, te extrañé” as she peppers her face with kisses. 

While Carmen giggles with delight, Gray watches it with an odd sinking feeling. His mother has never done something like that to him before. She coddles him, yes, but he doesn’t remember being hugged or kissed much as a child. 

He silently chucks it onto his ‘reasons why I’m so fucked up’ list, and then berates himself for the fact he’s thinking about himself when this moment is about Carmen and her mom. 

When Carlotta Valdez fixes his gaze onto him, he holds out a hand, expecting to shake hers, but she regards his hand, grins bare pearly white teeth, and pulls him into a hug. Gray has no idea what’s the appropriate response. Does he hug back? Does he stay still? Before he has the time to enact either of the options, Carlotta’s already pulled back, clapping sturdy hands onto his shoulders and kissing both of his cheeks.  
Gray is so overwhelmed right now. The only one who gives him physical love is Carmen, and not nearly as firm as this. Her hugs and kisses are always so fleeting, they’re as light as a feather, and Gray likes it like that. It’s what works for them. 

But Carlotta’s touch is so much more firm, so much more grounding. Gray supposes it all makes sense, she takes care of an orphanage, she must have experience in hugging, in touching, to sequester the body into a safe-house, into a bullet, lead and foolproof and protective. 

All he can do is stare at her slack-jawed. If she noticed what her hug did to him, she doesn’t comment on it. 

“My sweet boy! I’m so glad to finally meet you.” Her accent is thick, her tone jovial. Her eyes dance in the fluorescent light, just like Carmen’s do. She’s like a carbon copy, only older, and softer around the edges. Carmen is more ragged, sharp still, like thorns on a rose.

He has to swallow and think for a few seconds before he’s able to get out a soft, “me too.”

She turns him around, slaps him good-naturedly on his arm. “You’re so thin,” she says, and shoots a faux-angry glare at her daughter, “does my Carmen not feed you?” 

“Mama.” Carmen whines, rolling her eyes. 

He laughs nervously. “No, Ma’am, I’m the one to feed us.” 

Carlotta tuts, putting her bony hands on her hips and shaking her head. “Come along you two, I have some leftovers from supper in my fridge. You must be so hungry!” 

Gray casts a look at Carmen who laughs and beckons him to follow. 

….

It’s well into the night when Carlotta lets them off with full bellies and some wine to top it off. Gray’s whole body feels warm and hazy, like the summer sun crawled into his skin, warming him from the inside out. 

“Your mother is so lovely,” he says, following her into her old bedroom, leaving the suitcase against the wall. He can pack it out tomorrow. The room isn’t terribly small, but smaller than his bedroom back at the apartment. The walls are grey, but decorated bountifully with all kinds of posters, pictures and drawings. It’s cozy, lived in. Gray likes it. 

“I know,” Carmen sighs dreamily, starting to work out of her shoes and socks, “isn’t she amazing?” 

And sometimes, it just hits him, unbidden, how pretty she is. 

“Yeah,” Gray stares at her. She’s a special kind of pretty tonight, hair hangs loose from her bun, framing her face like a portrait. Her dress is skin-tight, hugging her figure in a sweep of crumpled red. Her mascara leaves a black smudge underneath her eyes, the lipstick she put on at the airport is long gone by now. He eyes the dip of her sweat-slick collarbones, and swallows. 

She furrows her eyebrows when she sees him look, peeks down at her clothes, and brushes the skirt. “Do I have something on my face or something?” She runs a worried hand over her cheek. 

He shakes his head, sits down on the bed that’s eyeing way too narrow for both of them. “Nothing, nothing. You’re just... really beautiful.” 

She blushes, even after all the months they’ve been together. “Oh my God. Gray!” She buries her face in her hands. 

He shrugs one shoulder. “it’s true.” 

“Ugh,” she breathes, eyes glistening. Her cheeks are still cherry-red. “Turn around, I can’t change with you staring.” 

“I’ve already seen everything there is to see, love,” He grins, but turns around dutifully. He stares at the pictures plastered above the bed as Carmen shuffles her suitcase over the floor, rustling through her clothes. 

“You can look now,” she says after a few moments. She’s clad in an old blue tank-top of his and pajama shorts now, still rummaging through her suitcase, holding up her brush triumph antically in the air when she finally spots it. 

Gray just steps out of his day attire and slides into the bed in just his boxers, waiting until Carmen is done with her nightly rituals. 

“Shouldn’t you brush your teeth?” Carmen asks, and when he groans, he hears another suitcase open up --his-- and his toothbrush flies with deadly precision against the back of his head. “Brush them!” 

He grumbles, stretching out over the mattress and flinging one arm over his forehead. “Make me.” 

“Fine. No sex for a week.” 

Gray sighs heavily, sitting back up as if he’s being held back by a bag filled with stones, “you make a convincing argument, my lady.” He brushes by her, trailing his fingers down the small of her back. “Not that you would’ve kept to that threat anyways,” he whispers, starting to grin. “You can’t keep your hands off me. I’m simply too…. Irresistible.” 

“You’re disgusting is what you are,” She says with a barely withheld laugh, pecking him on the cheek. “Now brush your teeth.” 

“As you wish,” he says, and slinks off to the bathroom. 

…

The bed is indeed way too narrow for the both of them, they’re pressed together like Carmen’s nesting dolls, and it’s so hot and stuffy Gray feels like they’ll melt into each other like candle wax. 

“Maybe we’re better off getting a hotel tomorrow,” Carmen whispers, squirming to get her tank top off. She flings it onto the floor, next to the blanket they’ve also kicked off already. 

Gray flicks her hair over, trailing his fingers over her now naked back. “Maybe.” He hums. 

…

They awake early with their limbs tangled together like moss, skin sweaty and damp. Carmen’s hair sticks to her back and to Gray’s neck. The room feels like there’s no air left, it’s heavy on Gray’s lungs. His skin feels overheated.

He feels free. 

After they’ve brushed their teeth in the little bathroom, he kisses her so hard she almost stumbles back. 

“My, what’s gotten into you this morning?” she asks. Eyes sparkling, a furious blush creeping onto her cheeks. She turns the faucet on, and the pipes creak as the showerhead roars to life. 

“I just feel good.” He says, baring his teeth in a smile,

She shuffles against him, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against his mouth. “Let’s feel even better,” she says and slips her fingers underneath the waistband of his boxers.


End file.
